“What about Stefan’s phone?”
“No joy,” Inglis said. “It’s not been used, nor is it transmitting a location but the phone company will notify us of any change.”
“I’m posting an armed guard on your father’s room for the foreseeable future, until we can figure this out,” Broadfoot said. “You should spend some time with him because I want you back at Fulford for a debriefing, this afternoon.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you,” Caslin replied, gratefully.
“I can arrange for-”
“No thank you, Sir,” Caslin interrupted. “I know what you’re going to offer and I appreciate the thought but I don’t want, or need, a bodyguard.”
“That’s your decision,” Broadfoot said, glancing at John Inglis. “Until this afternoon then.” Caslin nodded his understanding. “And Nathaniel,” Caslin looked up, meeting Broadfoot’s gaze, “it had better be good.”
“Yes, Sir. I know.”
Broadfoot left the room. Inglis let out a deep sigh, releasing some of the pent-up tension within.
“It’s a good job you let your friend know about Rabiot,” Inglis mused openly. Caslin glanced over to him.
“How do you mean?”
“Your friend…in the pictures, Rabiot took. Until we get him, we can’t be sure but it looks like he’s your stalker and therefore, Natalie Bermond’s killer. You let your friend know, didn’t you?”
“Yes, of course. In any event, she can look after herself,” Caslin replied. “Why did you mention it?”
Inglis shrugged, “Just toying with possibilities. Where will he go, what will he do next? If, and I accept it’s a big if, he came for your family, then maybe the end game you’re talking about is targeting those closest to you. Seems plausible, doesn’t it? Anyone close to you could be the next-”
“Bloody hell,” Caslin said as a thought struck him.
“What is it?”
Caslin locked eyes with him, “Alison.”
“Alison?”
“Taylor.”
“The pathologist?” Inglis clarified but Caslin was already making for the door. Inglis moved after him, “What about her?”
Caslin quickened his pace, “We had dinner last week. I should’ve warned her but…she wasn’t in any of the photos.”
“My car’s outside,” Inglis stated, concern edging into his tone. “We can get some uniform over there as well, just in case.” Within minutes they’d set off to make the short trip across the city to Dr Taylor’s office.
Caslin put a call into the control room, requesting assistance. They had no definitive evidence that Rabiot was heading that way but nevertheless, he felt uneasy as they flew through red lights with their sirens blaring. He looked up Alison’s number and rang it, remaining tight-lipped as the call connected, before passing almost immediately to her voicemail. Cursing, he hung up. Switching to her office entry in his contacts, he tried again, only for the call to ring out. Replacing the phone in his pocket, he cursed once more.
“Maybe she’s in the lab?” Inglis said aloud.
“Maybe,” Caslin replied quietly. Pulling up outside, Caslin noted Alison’s car was in her allotted space, one of the few present. A marked patrol car arrived as they clambered out. Inglis addressed the two uniformed officers inside.
“One of you with me,” he instructed, pointing to the second constable, “Markson, you’re with Caslin. Weapons drawn, take no risks. Understood?” he said the last while looking directly at Caslin, who nodded.
“You head for her office and we’ll take the lab,” Caslin stated.
They entered the building and Inglis took off up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Caslin went to the left, in the direction of pathology, located on the ground floor, with PC Markson in tow. The latter drew his Taser and they progressed purposefully. A movement ahead caused them to pull up as a door opened. A woman, wearing a white laboratory coat, stepped out in front of them and gasped as they startled her. It wasn’t Dr Taylor.
“Have you seen Alison, this morning?” Caslin asked.
“Yes…a little while ago,” she stammered.
“Where was she?” Caslin pressed.
“In her office-”
“Thanks,” he said, making to turn back the way they had come.
“But she was on her way to Pathology, when I left,” the woman said. “I’m sure she’ll still be there. Is something wrong?”
“We hope not,” Caslin replied, “but you should be somewhere public, until we make sure.”
“Where?” she asked, appearing confused.
“More officers will be arriving soon. The car park is probably best,” he said, over his shoulder, resuming his course. Approaching the entrance to the labs cautiously, Caslin indicated they should continue in silence. Easing the outer-door open, they listened intently but no sounds came to them. Caslin took the lead and they passed through. The corridor was wide with several doors leading off it, on either side. Caslin knew where Dr Taylor worked but they couldn’t disregard the other rooms. A cursory inspection found several were locked and the others were empty. Coming to the pathology lab, Caslin paused and took a deep breath. An image of what they found at the hospital came to mind and he swallowed hard, finding his mouth dry. A shaft of light crept out from beneath the threshold of the doorway, broken momentarily by movement from within.
With a glance towards Markson to check he was ready, Caslin silently mouthed a three-count whilst gripping the handle. Easing the door open, he allowed the armed officer to go first, with himself only a half-step behind. The refrigerated storage units ensured a blast of cold air met them as they entered. The room was partially lit with every third neon-tube engaged, lending the room an ethereal appearance and leaving much in shadow. Ahead of them, to the right, the adjoining office glowed brightly. A solitary cadaver lay on an autopsy table, shrouded entirely by a green cover and the remainder of the tables and equipment appeared clean and unused.
Caslin indicated the office with a flick of his hand and the constable nodded in agreement. Both men edged forward, putting a few paces between them. Resisting the urge to call out, Caslin wanted to find Dr Taylor hunched over her laptop, deep in thought. Coming to the office door, he once again executed a slow count and pushed it open. Stepping through he found the small room was also empty. Perhaps her colleague had been wrong and Alison was in her office after all? Feeling a gentle tap on his shoulder, he turned to see Markson indicating they should return to the lab. An enquiring look saw the constable remove his left hand from the Taser and indicate the autopsy table. It took a moment to register what he was intimating. The movement was almost imperceptible but was still movement, nonetheless. The sheet covering the cadaver was elevating and falling with regularity. Either the corpse had reanimated or the person beneath it was most certainly alive.
They slipped back in and Caslin took up a position to the left, Markson the right, bringing his Taser to bear. Caslin slowly took a hold of the cloth, at the top corner, taking care not to be too deliberate. In one motion he whipped the cover back and both officers involuntarily stepped back. Dr Taylor lay on the autopsy table, fully-clothed, pale and unconscious but clearly breathing, albeit in a shallow manner. There were no visible indications of injury and Caslin apprehensively edged closer, the faint whiff of chloroform coming to him, as he leaned in to her.
“He’s probably still here-”
“I am,” said a voice from behind. Both men turned, only for two gunshots to reverberate around the laboratory in quick succession. Caslin saw Markson go down, discharging the Taser as he fell. The darts shot forward, taking Rabiot square in the chest but despite a grunt of pain, the weapon failed to bring him down. The constable hit the tiled floor hard, his Taser clattering down alongside him. Caslin’s ears were ringing but he launched himself forward, trying to press home an advantage whilst Rabiot was disorientated. Pushing the gun away with his left hand, Caslin struck out at Rabiot’s face, with his right. The Australian staggere
d backwards and Caslin followed through with his full weight, throwing himself head-first into his opponent’s abdomen in an attempt to knock him off balance and into the wall behind. Both men stumbled but Rabiot was first to regain the upper hand. Driving an elbow down onto the back of Caslin’s head, he followed that move with a knee to the chest and levered Caslin to one side, before shoving him away. He attempted to bring the pistol to bear but Caslin grasped his forearm at the wrist, ensuring the gun was directed away and pushed back with all his strength.
The men grappled for supremacy, Rabiot’s superior size and strength forcing Caslin backwards. They cannoned repeatedly off of the walls and equipment in their apparent life or death struggle. Caslin let out a frustrated scream, putting every ounce of energy into repelling the attacks but with little success. He was losing with every second that passed and he knew it. The barrel of the gun was edging closer towards him and panic set in. Rabiot sensed Caslin’s strength dissipating, redoubling his efforts and straining every sinew to overpower him. Caslin launched a headbutt but it failed to land and he found himself off-balance with his opponent pressing for an advantage. Falling backwards and gathering pace, Caslin sought to right himself. He struck something solid at waist-height and before he could react, Rabiot had him pinned down across an autopsy table, one hand locked around his throat with the other trying to level the gun at his face. Caslin scrabbled at Rabiot’s grip, struggling to breathe while his weaker left hand was losing the battle over the weapon. His thoughts momentarily became confused and his vision blurred, before settling into a tunnel effect. Rabiot’s demonic, focused expression, now all that he could see.
Suddenly the grip loosened fractionally and Caslin found a second wind. Managing to shift his opponent’s weight from atop him to the side, he had just enough freedom to plant his feet and pull himself upright. Drawing breath sharply, Caslin was surprised not to feel the impact of the expected bullet. Instead Rabiot turned away from him, lashing out with his weapon. Alison fell as she was pistol-whipped across the side of the head, collapsing to the floor along with the desk lamp she had struck her assailant with. Rabiot spun back around but by now, had lost the momentum and Caslin leapt forward and on this occasion, landing a headbutt on to the bridge of Rabiot’s nose. The larger man faltered and Caslin kicked out, sending the gun from Rabiot’s grasp and spinning across the floor. Launching a blistering combination of punches, Caslin felt a surge of anticipation at taking the lead for the first time but still, the other kept coming back at him.
Drawing on his own reserves, Rabiot launched a counter attack that pushed Caslin onto the back foot once again. Stepping away, to give himself some space, Caslin was dismayed to see his opponent draw a knife, concealed down by his ankle. Tearing off his jacket, he wrapped it around one hand and forearm, to vainly offer some form of protection. Rabiot flew at him like a man possessed, slashing wildly to the left and right. Caslin deflected the blows away from him as best he could. They circled each other and Caslin cast a brief eye over Alison, trying to ascertain her injury. It was impossible to tell but for now, she remained motionless. The thought occurred that there was no margin for error. He knew if he lost this fight, both of them were as good as dead.
“I’m disappointed in you,” Rabiot stated, in between ragged draws of breath.
“Is that right?” Caslin replied, not taking his eye off of him.
“This isn’t how we were supposed to meet.” Caslin saw an opportunity to buy time.
“How about we call it a day now? What do you think?” Rabiot shook his head, an action accompanied by a half smile.
“If this is where it has to be, then so be it.” He jumped forward, swinging the knife in a wide arc. Caslin leapt backwards, the blade missing him by inches. Taking refuge behind an autopsy table, Caslin used it as a barrier to allow some breathing space. Assistance would arrive soon enough and the longer he kept Rabiot at bay, the greater his chances of a positive ending.
“Why focus on me, Mark? Bit of a change, isn’t it?” Caslin asked, gently bracing himself against the table.
“It’s like anything else, after a while,” Rabiot replied, edging to his left. Caslin mirrored the movement in the opposite direction, maintaining the defensive advantage.
“Life in general?”
“Things become too easy…too dull…,” Rabiot said coldly. “A little freshening up, from time to time is required.”
“You’re another attention-seeker, desperate for his mother’s affection? Looking to get caught, to have your moment in the sun, like so many others?” Caslin glanced at PC Markson, on the floor. He knew he was dead.
“My family are close. My mother loves me very much. They are good people,” Rabiot said with a grin.
“Many psychos convince themselves of that.”
“You must have chased some idiots in the past, if that’s what you think this is.”
“I’ve brought down all kinds,” Caslin countered. “Why me, Mark?”
Rabiot shrugged, “Why not?”
“I thought we were done with the bullshit. Why me?” Rabiot appeared thoughtful but that gave no indication that Caslin could relax.
“You’re a challenge, a worthy adversary. I saw you on the TV. You didn’t want to be there. You’re not playing at being a policeman, you wear it on your sleeve. There are very few that you meet with genuine passion, these days.”
“Usually I would take that as a compliment.”
“You should,” Rabiot stated. “Being passionate is something that we share.”
“For different things though, I dare say.”
“What I do is too easy. No-one has ever got close to me-”
“How long have you been doing this?” Caslin asked, drawing a laugh from Rabiot. It was a sound so nonchalant that it chilled Caslin to his core.
“You know, there was this campaign once, up in Sunderland, to find a couple of missing pensioners. No-one even realises that they’re dead, three years on. Imagine that. How many people go missing every year? Two…three thousand…more?”
“At least,” Caslin conceded.
“All it takes is preparation. The army taught me that.”
“Where did you serve?” Caslin asked, his eyes flitting towards the door. Rabiot noticed.
“Expecting someone?” he asked.
“Hoping, more like, seeing as we’re being honest.”
“Let them come,” Rabiot said assuredly.
“Until then,” Caslin said, “tell me where you get your love of…this…”
“Craft?” Rabiot finished, Caslin inclined his head. “Advanced recon. Seven years.”
“My brother was infantry,” Caslin offered. “Where is he?”
Rabiot’s expression split a broad grin, “Oh…wouldn’t you just like me to give you all the answers? Despite so many positive attributes, this is why you still disappoint me, Inspector Caslin.”
“How’s that?” Caslin asked.
“You bear such an emotional strain, day to day, and on the whole, you manage it quite well. And yet, you don’t see what’s happening right under your nose, even with those closest to you.”
Now Caslin forced a smile, “You sound like a shrink, I once knew.”
“That’s my job,” Rabiot countered. “It requires an innate ability to focus, to bring order to the chaos.”
“Why Natalie Bermond?”
“I didn’t know who she was,” Rabiot said flippantly. “You see, that’s where things changed…my routines…my plans.”
“You watch your targets, don’t you? Like you did me?”
“You wouldn’t believe the lengths that I have gone to,” Rabiot boasted.
“Try me.”
Rabiot smiled, appearing to mull it over, “I guess it can’t hurt. I move around a lot, for my work. Even when I’m settled, the opportunity to travel is a constant. The possibilities are almost endless. To be a stranger in a town, or city, is a liberating experience. A place unconnected to me makes it simple. I take
a train, a flight, whichever suits, then hire a car and drive to another city, at the reaches of the mileage allowance. From there, a target usually flags itself up in short time.”
“How do you choose?”
“If you sit in a park on a summer’s day, outside a coffee shop or hell, even take a walk around a supermarket,” he chuckled, “one or two people will catch the eye. Have you ever done that, watched someone without them knowing? I’ll bet you have. Probably a woman, right?”
“You follow them?”
“Of course. They lead me home and that’s where the excitement ramps up. I weigh up the risks versus the opportunities.”
“Such as?”
“Is there an integral garage? It’s easier to break into the house proper without being seen or heard. Do they have kids or a dog? How close are their neighbours? Should I take them in their home or transport them elsewhere and what do I do with them, once I’m through?”
“You’re a twisted bastard,” Caslin said.
“That couple I mentioned, in Sunderland, were a test,” Rabiot spoke excitedly, recounting the event. “He was a big guy so I took them while they slept. A gun, a couple of cable ties and a promise that I was only there to rob, kept any resistance to a minimum and made them compliant.”
“But you didn’t stick to that, did you?”
Rabiot shook his head, “No. I took them out to a derelict farmhouse that I’d come across on another trip. The project went like clockwork, as they do, until the husband got loose, anyway. I had him tied to a chair in the basement but I guess he couldn’t handle listening to her screaming. He managed to get upstairs and rush me, like some kind of a hero-”
“What happened?”
“I beat him to death, in front of his wife,” Rabiot said with a frown. “Man, that guy really pissed me off. I had plans for him and he damn well ruined them. It just meant that I spent longer on her, that’s all.” Caslin felt rage building from the pit of his stomach but he maintained his composure, although his voice took on a tone of controlled anger.
“Who were they?”
Blacklight (Dark Yorkshire Book 2) Page 26
